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Night Club Monologue

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The torpid pounding of my heart could be felt from the base of my stomach. And, despite the fact that I’d made the conscious decision to temporarily cement my feet to the floor, I began to seriously reconsider my choice. Cumbersome footsteps, from heel to toe of the lunatic’s boots, began to slowly trudge towards me; and upon his second in my direction, the sound of his twirling pistol became most audible, and resonated throughout the club’s walls. I attempted to inhale silently; however, the fearful tremors of my chest made the task quite difficult. The once confident feeling that dwelled within me, and encouraged me to continue, then felt to have suffocated by the impending ramifications, at the expense of my buckling transgressions. However, …show more content…

Don’t you fret your beautiful mind,” and as my voice dissipated into the moisture-enriched atmosphere, the splashing of my feet ensued the resurrected churning of my legs, and, again, we ventured into the natural pandemonium. Running with my head cut-off is more or less what I felt to have been doing throughout those moments, as I knew that if I ran through the north exit of the town, there would lay absolutely nothing for miles. And, if I were to run south, towards our village, there would reside no place of refuge, or any alleviation of the circumstance. My mind was going berserk, and was frantically scraping every nook and cranny of mental storage space for a desperate plot or scheme. However, as I completely emerged from the side of the tavern, and began to vulnerably jolt through the rain, and towards the heart of the town, it was as if my mind was extinguished of its stress-induced inferno, of which was set ablaze by the present situation; and I began to feel soothed. It was as though my mind was settled of conflict, upon opting to no longer adhere to the fearful thoughts that swam about it, thoughts that hindered my ability to think clearly, to act accordingly, or even the ability to devise a plan. Moreover, there appeared to be a recurring theme, a motif that both encapsulated and denoted my fallacies of thought and hardships; and that was the theme of succumbing to detrimental, psychologically maiming thoughts, solely because of previous situations, or fear of what the future held. Time was of the essence; the present was the only scenario to truly exist; and within this lone realm of existence, I began to embark upon destiny. “There he is!” shouted the dimwitted cohort upon spotting my emergence of the tavern’s southern wall, “Blast him, sir!” he screeched, of which echoed off the surrounding establishments, and resonated throughout the entire town of

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